bursts, in a single hour,
From the folded bud to the perfect flower.

Many a tremulous hope and care,
Many a loving wish and prayer,
With the blissful dreams of one who stood
At the golden gate of womanhood,
The little maiden's tireless hands
Wove in and out of the shining strands.

The buds that burst in an April sun
Had seen the wonderful shawl begun;
It was finished, and folded up with pride,
When the vintage purpled the mountain-side;
And smiles made light in the violet eyes,
At the thought of a lover's pleased surprise.

The spider hung from the budding thorn
His baseless web, when the shawl was worn;
And the cobwebs, silvered by the dew,
With the morning sunshine breaking through,
The maiden's toil might well recall,
In the vanished year, on the Shetland Shawl.

For the rose had died in the autumn showers,
That bloomed in the summer's golden hours;
And the shining tissue of hopes and dreams,
With misty glories and rainbow gleams
Woven within and out, was one
Like the slender thread by the spider spun.

As fresh and as pure as the sad young face,
The snowy shawl with its clinging grace
Seems a fitting veil for a form so fair:
But who would think what a tale of care,
Of love and grief and faith, might all
Be folded up in a Shetland Shawl?

ROBA DI ROMA.

[Continued.]

CHAPTER VI.

GAMES IN ROME.

Walking, during pleasant weather, almost anywhere in Rome, but
especially in passing through the enormous arches of the Temple of
Peace, or along by the Colosseum, or some wayside _osteria_ outside the
city-walls, the ear of the traveller is often saluted by the loud,
explosive tones of two voices going off together, at little intervals,
like a brace of pistol-shots; and turning round to seek the cause of
these strange sounds, he will see two men, in a very excited state,
shouting, as they fling out their hands at each other with violent
gesticulation. Ten to one he will say to himself, if he be a stranger in
Rome, "How quarrelsome and passionate these Italians are!" If he be an
Englishman or an American, he will be sure to congratulate himself on
the superiority of his own countrymen, and wonder why these fellows
stand there shaking their fists at each other, and screaming, instead of
fighting it out like men,--and muttering, "A cowardly pack, too!" will
pass on, perfect